


stolen food

by spacershepards



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, RvB Bingo Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 20:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacershepards/pseuds/spacershepards
Summary: in which kimball and grif have a much needed chat about food.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for the rvb bingo wars, to fill out red team's “set in chorus” square! set somewhere in between season 12 and season 13.

“Look! I _swear_ I'm not eating more than my fair share,” protests Grif, definitely not thinking about the boxes of macaroni and cheese he's stolen from food storage.

“Then you won't mind if I go through your room,” says Kimball, not facing him. Grif swears she has eyes in the back of his head. “If I'm not going to find any food, then you won't care.”

Not _entirely_ true – even if she didn't find his stockpile of food, there are some things that Grif would rather Kimball never sees. Hell, there are some things _he'd_ rather not see the light of day, whatsoever. And then there are one or two things he's just too embarrassed to let anyone see – the picture of Kai he has, stuffed into his pillowcase, 'cause yeah, he misses his sister. And then The Other Thing – a picture of Simmons he got, kinda on accident, back at Blood Gulch; the one where Simmons is smiling and the sun's setting behind him, and honestly, it's probably Grif's favorite picture.

“No, that's not necessary,” he says, shrugging. “You know me, I'm not eating any more than I'm supposed to!”

“I...” Kimball stops, turns to face him, blinks a few times. “Then explain why food is going missing from our stores.”

“I bet it's Matthews,” Grif replies, crossing his arms.

“Captain Grif, I don't think Matthews is stealing our food. Why don't we look at your quarters and see if we find any evidence pointing to who actually took it?”

“Not necessary,” he repeats. “I promise, it is not me. Maybe it's Simmons.”

“ _Captain Grif_.” Kimball glances at her desk, littered with papers. Ones that Doyle probably wants her to go over – but Grif doesn't know how either of them thinks, so why even bother trying to figure it out? “Can you _please_ just admit you took the food?”

She's gritting her teeth, probably trying not to scream. Oh, God. Grif is fucked.

“Okay, okay, fine! I took the food. I'll go get it and bring it back.”

“Why don't I come with you?”

“Well, I'm sure you've heard from Simmons by now that apparently my room is a mess -”

“I don't mind messes,” she says, and there's a slight hint of laughter in her voice.

“- and _besides_! I'm sure you've counted how much food's been taken or whatever. So...”

“Captain Grif? I'm coming with you.”

He holds back a scream.

* * *

“My God,” she says, the second she steps into the room.

Honestly, Grif doesn't see the problem. Sure, he hasn't put any of his clothes into his laundry hamper or whatever they call those. Sure, there are plates stacked on top of his tiny nightstand. And sure, he hasn't made his bed the entire time he's been here. But that's not a problem! He doesn't care!

(And besides. He's never really in _his_ room, anyways.)

“This is... disgusting,” Kimball says, covering her visor with one hand.

“You should see Tucker's room,” says Grif, as though that's helpful. It's really not. But hey, Tucker's room is pretty messy, too.

“Can you just get the stolen food so I can leave?”

“Never said you had to come,” Grif complains, and pulls a cardboard box out from under his bed. “Here. That's everything. 'cept one or two things. I _kinda_ ate those.”

Kimball groans.


End file.
